


Drunk in Love

by TheMouthKing



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Alcohol, Butt Plugs, Close call, Daddy Kink, Drinking, Exhibitionism, Gay Bar, High Heels, Jealousy, Kink Neal, M/M, Vegas, pretend anonymous sex, pretend hook up, set during the Live Show tour when they were in Vegas, this is way too slutty for Christmas, this is your lucky day if you like daddy kink I guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:33:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21932872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMouthKing/pseuds/TheMouthKing
Summary: After the Vegas Live Show, Rhett and Link go out on the town to kick back and have a little fun. They end up in Vegas' hottest gay night club and play Rhett's favorite game, pretending to be strangers looking for a hookup. Things heat up fast... and then don't go quite as planned.
Relationships: Rhett McLaughlin/Link Neal
Comments: 20
Kudos: 45
Collections: Mythical Secret Santa 2019





	Drunk in Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [greenyjess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenyjess/gifts).

> Greenyjess, I wasn't your original Secret Santa, so I really hope you like this! Your prompt was very open ended, but you did suggest something with Link without his glasses, and well... he definitely isn't wearing them here. ;) Enjoy! Merry Christmas!
> 
> HUGE THANK YOU to @bourbonpowered of tumblr for her profound help with this, hashing through plot points, enabling me, and cheerleading me along the way. This fic has a lot of moving parts (for me) and has taken some time to wrap my head around, and Bourbon has helped me immeasurably as I've gotten it sorted out.
> 
> PS: Link’s outfit. Chain [front](https://i.pinimg.com/736x/a8/a8/6d/a8a86d1130b243e33e84ff54cc6c0436--body-chains-macabre.jpg) & [back](https://i.pinimg.com/736x/66/58/dc/6658dc8bd194c88d90242ce55ce0483e--body-chain.jpg) / [leggings](http://www.internationaljock.com/gregg-homme-crave-faux-leather-leggings-black,11235.html) / [shoes](https://us.ecco.com/ecco-shape-75-slouch-tall-boot-0809704682037.html?gclid=Cj0KCQiAxfzvBRCZARIsAGA7YMxhxsvkhKrFA2tgXw-CHvuzraKbOmRutKgEDsV-mAt4HN77XtZB5gcaAmXmEALw_wcB). The leggings link is probs NSFW. But also, so is this fic, so.

Rhett’s not sure if Link’s already here or not yet. The last text he’d sent said he was leaving his phone in his hotel room, that he couldn’t figure out a way to carry it on him in what he’d ended up wearing, but not to worry because there was no way Rhett was going to miss him. 

To say Rhett was looking forward to tonight was the understatement of the century. 

This is the first time they’ve done something like this, though they’ve talked about it a lot. The idea of it, the conjecture has fueled a lot of late nights and early mornings, lazy casual roleplay in the comfort and safety of whatever bed they’re sharing. But this is different. 

The bar is already crowded when he arrives. It’s not his first time at a gay bar — they can thank Stevie for that — but it’s definitely the first time that he’d gone to a gay bar looking to score. Of course, unlike probably most of the men currently on the prowl, getting lucky tonight is a sure thing for Rhett. But that’s the game, pretending it’s _not_ a sure thing. 

Acting like they’ve never met. Rhett’s going to act like they’re strangers and try to pick Link up in a gay bar. He doesn’t have a clue what’s in store for him, and it’s thrilling. 

It’s a bar he’s never been to in a town he’s never explored. They’re here for just one night, having just finished the show and about to be getting on a plane first thing in the morning. The lights are low, and as he makes his way up to the bar he can’t help but be distracted by the men gathered at tall tables and dark corners, groups of friends talking or more frequently, scattered pairs with drinks in hand, leaning in close enough to hear each other, occasionally touching. 

He’d never thought much about _spaces._ The thing is that if it wasn’t for Link he doesn’t think this would be a part of himself he’d ever have explored. Finding this kind of community was never something he’d looked for. But since his friendship with Link has tipped into something more, he’s become increasingly aware of all the places they can’t be open about it. 

And he knows a big part of that is their public personas, and their marriages, and not wanting to explain their open marriages to family or the public or anyone. But it doesn’t change the fact that he’s started to be aware of spaces since things had shifted. 

That when the opportunity presents itself for them to be open and slip beneath the radar, away from the spotlight, he wants to jump at the chance. 

Which brings them to tonight. To this dimly lit club. To not knowing where Link is or if he’s even here yet. 

He definitely needs a drink. 

He’s nervous if he’s honest. Afraid of being recognized, on edge from the energy of the room, the eyes on him. He’s the introverted one _and he’d suggested this. _But he’s not backing out, not even close, he’s just a little incredulous that he’d suggested it and was going through with it. 

He bellies up to the bar and expects to be kept waiting to order, glances down the line of the bar at men crowding in to order. Men younger than him, maybe better looking, but he’s surprised when it’s not long before the bartender makes eye contact with him and nods, “What’re you having?”

“Tequila. Three shots.”

The bartender quirks up an eyebrow and Rhett can’t immediately tell if he’s impressed or if it’s a look of judgement, but after asking him what brand (he doesn’t care) and if he’s using card or cash (cash all the way), he pours out Rhett’s shots. 

“That’ll be $36.”

Rhett takes out his wallet, puts more than that amount down on the bar, waves off change and picks up the first shot and knocks it back with a hiss and cringe at the bite of it. The second goes down easier, though he’s aware now of eyes on him. He holds the third between thumb and middle finger and just thinks about it. He turns from the bar, waiting for the burn in his throat to subside, and looks out at the dance floor. 

There’s a sea of bodies, mostly men but truth be told there’s an array — men, women and everyone in between packed onto the dance floor and moving beneath the shifting strobe lights, a mix of neon and blacklight that catches and highlights various snapshots from the floor. The constantly moving light catches where it goes — a flash of sequins here and the shine of latex there, a white brimmed hat briefly lit up like a halo — and it keeps the eye moving through the room. 

That’s when he sees Link for the first time tonight, caught in the flash of a red strobe light on the move. 

There are people between Rhett and Link, but from what he can see, Link isn’t wearing much. It looks like he’s not wearing a shirt, but what he notices most is that Link is flanked on all sides by men. There’s one in front of and behind him, and there might be more than that. At least one more nearby, one who’s watching, attention trained on Links lower half, honed in on the way his body moves. 

Rhett knocks back that third shot and sets the glass down on the bar a little too hard. 

He doesn’t see the knowing grin of an older, silver haired man beside him at the bar, doesn’t realize he’s being watched with that same smirk as he weaves his way into the throng of bodies. 

Rhett makes a beeline for Link. No one else and nothing in the club matters, even registers to him. There are people who try to dance up on him as he makes his way through, but he’s not stopping until he’s acquired his target. Until he’s got Link in his sights, until he’s interrupted the men who’ve flocked to him. 

He’s close enough now to really get a sense of what’s going on, to get an eyeful of what Link’s wearing. He’s not quite shirtless, wearing a body chain inspired by that vertebrae chain they’d gotten for the show, but it’s more delicate. It loops loosely around his neck with a single chain down the center of his front and back with lengths of chain that connect the two, draped down his sides, accenting the sway of his hips.

Whatever he’s wearing as pants look like they’re painted on, leave nothing to the imagination, and he’s wearing heeled boots that bring him closer to Rhett’s height than he’s ever been. He gets the impression Link’s been here a little while already, seems like he’s into the swing of the dancefloor. He’s guessing he’d started the night with his hair just so — knows as much because it had been styled all through the show — but by now it’s starting to fall, to cling to the sweat gathering on his forehead and temples. 

There are hands on Link’s body that don’t belong there. The men dancing with him are touching him, big hands and thick fingers moving over the flat of his belly and the sharp line of his hips, the swell of his ass, copping a feel as much as they’re guiding. Encouraging him to bring the next move where it’s wanted, to fit himself against their bodies more tightly. 

Rhett feels his response war and well up in him. There’s a part of him that likes seeing Link manhandled, that gets off on knowing that Link is wanted by so many but that he’s going home with _him._ But there’s another part of him that wants to fight everyone off of Link and jealously steal him away, beyond the reach of all these hands.

Rhett doesn’t think Link’s seen him yet; if he has, he hasn’t let on. His eyes are closed and he’s just moving, just letting the music and the heavy hands on his body lead the way. Rhett pulls a bold move, acts like he’s trying to cut in and dance with the man behind Link, but at the last second takes his place. If he’d pissed the man off, he never hears about it, adding his broad hand to those currently roving the bare expanse of Link’s sweaty skin. If Link can sense that one of the hands is Rhett’s, he hasn’t let that on either. The thrill of nerves from this crash over Rhett like a wave into shore. 

He’d be surprised to find out Link can’t tell it’s him. How many times have they fucked by this point? How many times has he had Rhett’s hands on his body just like this, catching his hips, pulling him close and fitting their bodies like they’d been made to slot together? As his hands slip lower he feels that the material of his pants is soft, feels like leather and fits him like a glove. It comes as something of a shock, he’s never seen Link dressed like this. He can’t get enough. He almost can’t blame the other men who couldn’t keep their hands off him between how inviting his body is, the mesmerizing sway of his hips and how it feels when his ass brushes back against him. 

One big hand curls around the front of Link’s body from behind, skims over his belly underneath the drag of the chain that cuts a line down the center of his body and he feels Link moving against the steady anchor of his palm. There’s a man in front of Link who’s mirroring the move but further south, a hand traveling from thigh _higher_ and Rhett levels him with a look over Link’s shoulder that says _stop._

Says _this boy is mine. _

But, bold, the man presses on, knuckles dragging over the bulge in Link’s pants. Maybe leggings is a more accurate descriptor, Rhett realizes, because as his hand skims down to head the man off at the pass, he doesn’t feel any closure where the fly should be, just flat elastic slung low on his hips. 

Rhett’s cups his hand between Link’s legs like he owns him, bold as hell for anyone witnessing this go down. This tall man coming in from nowhere and laying claim on Link like it’s his birthright, like this was predetermined. And it is, but the game is that it’s not. 

Link looks down, sees the hand on him from behind, recognizes it — he must — because that’s when things change. The next sway of his body presses his ass so firmly into Rhett’s body it’s downright obscene. Rhett’s hands move to bracket Link’s slim hips and guide him, hold him there so there’s a heavy stretch of the beat where they’re not so much dancing as grinding. Damn near fucking with clothes on. 

The flash of the strobe lights catch the silver streaks of Link’s hair in blue and hot pink, shimmer in the delicate links of the chain draped around his neck, down his body. He looks like a god, chiseled and shining in silver and gold on the dance floor, worshipped like he ought to be. 

There are men on raised, lit platforms in the center of the floor, but Rhett’s attention never sways. He’s got what he wants, or he will. Tonight, Link’s a stranger, someone he’d seen across the floor from the bar, set his sights on, pursued. Link’s the one night stand he’s never had before. It’s a game he’s played before with Jessie, pretending they’re strangers, trying to pick her up, but he’s never played it with Link before tonight. 

The appeal is in the hunt, it’s in the pretended foreignness, the suspension of disbelief. It’s in letting himself consider a reality where he doesn’t get to go home with Link, where it’s not a given. Where he’s gotta work for it, got to be better than the other men who want him. 

Has to prove to him he’s worth the risk. 

This was something that would never have been in store for them. They’d met as kids, lucky enough to have found each other so early in life. Luckier still to be figuring this out together with their wives blessing, and they were happy with the way things are now but neither of them had gotten the chance to explore the club scene really. They’d only ever slept with each other and their wives, and this gives them a chance to explore. To pretend. To get a taste of things they otherwise would never experience. 

Rhett can feel the music in his bones, thrumming through his core. The hard, heavy beat is what guides him, guides their bodies together. Lets them grind together so close they move together like one, like there’s no line where Link ends and he begins. 

God, he can feel when Link shifts this, when he starts to let his hips really sway, when he’s rubbing back on him side to side. Like if they were naked, if they were fucking, this is the kind of move he’d describe as _greedy_. Link greedy for his cock and trying to get every last centimeter of it inside him, hips squirming. 

But clothed, it’s a tease. Clothed it’s a preview, a snapshot of what’s to come. A reminder of what other men might have already had, an obscenely thorough feel of his whole ass. Rhett knows Link gets slutty sometimes, that when he’s horny he’s a force to be reckoned with and that when he’s drinking he’s worse, but this is something else. 

The scent of bodies is thick in the air, sweat and deodorant and cologne, but the scent of Link’s body is filling Rhett’s senses. He can pick out his cologne, blood orange, and his sweat, cloying musk. Just incase Link doesn’t know who he’s dancing on, Rhett lowers his mouth to his neck, drags the familiar soft scrape of his beard over the back of his sweat damp neck as fingertips trace the elastic waist of his leggings, the delicate chains of his body jewelry skimming the backs of his fingers as he does. 

It’s when Link bends over, when he dips down a little and comes up, the full roundness of his ass presented prominently right _there,_ is when he feels it.

His hand turns, fingers splayed, slips down between their bodies and between Link’s cheeks and he feels the unmistakable shape of the base of a buttplug nestled there. 

In Rhett’s shock he forgets himself, presses it deeper into Links core with his thumb, feels the lithe body under his hands jerk at the move. It occurs to Rhett he isn’t necessarily the only man to discover this secret tonight, that the men around them with their roaming hands might have felt it too. Might have touched it, nudged it a little deeper, pantomimed at fucking Link with it through his clothes. 

That thought stokes the possessive streak in him, makes him want to lay claim to Link so thoroughly that no one could mistake to whom he belongs.

He rubs, grinds that plug more deeply into Links body as he moves to stand, thumb searching out the wide edge of the flared base as Link rights himself again, plasters himself up against the length of Rhett’s body, back to front. He reaches back, hands over his head to catch Rhett by the hair, needy and tactile, desperate to touch. 

And still, Link’s slowly rolling his hips against the point of contact of Rhett’s hand. 

That’s when Link turns around, loops his arms around Rhett’s neck while big hands find new places to land. Rhett realizes he hasn’t really seen him yet, hasn’t looked him in the eye because if he had he’d have noticed he wasn’t wearing his glasses, must be wearing contacts. He’d have noticed the smudgy eyeliner, the remains of what he has to assume was lipstick. The shine of a fresh apply is gone but the stain of deep red remains. 

Link smiles at him slowly as realization dawns, as Rhett drinks in the full look. Link looks younger without the glasses, despite the silver in his sweat-damp hair. It’s not unlike how he looks after a particular energetic round of fucking. 

Rhett follows Link’s gaze down. He’s looking at what Rhett had worn, at his chest and arms and how the red-speckled black tee clings to his chest and arms like it was made for him, shows off his biceps. Rhett has this passing thought that the men nearby would kill to be him, to be the one Link is focused on, the one he’s coiling his arms around. 

Link moves in closer, shameless as he slots their legs together in such a way as he can grind himself on Rhett’s hip. He’s never been a height that would allow that, but the extra few inches from the heels let him reach parts of Rhett he hasn’t had access to before. 

Links hand catches Rhett’s belt and uses the leverage to haul him in close, to grind on him front to front. Link exhales heavily and glances down, looks at the way his bare chest rubs against the soft cotton of Rhett’s shirt. Makes a point of leaning close enough that his nipples graze him obviously. 

One of Rhett’s hands strays down to Link’s ass, between his cheeks and he rubs, rocks the plug into him like he’s trying to grind it into his prostate and he gets the prize of watching Link’s eyes lose focus and glaze over. Feels the way he’s moving starts to change, a slower roll of his hips, torn between dry humping Rhett’s body and pressing back against his hand. 

Rhett kisses him then, right there on the dance floor. They haven’t even said a word to each other, but he couldn’t help it, couldn’t resist the way his lips looked, parted in what he knew was a moan if only it wasn’t too loud to hear over the music. 

People are watching them. People had been watching Link from the moment he’d set foot in the door, but he’s kidding himself if he doesn’t think people are watching him too. If they didn’t clock all six foot seven inches of him leaning on the bar and wonder just how much he was packing. Look at the way his shirt clung to him, the slim line of his jeans suggesting the kind of strength a lot of the men here are looking for. Big hands, big body, big dick. It’s an ego stroke if ever there was one, and they’re exhibitionists. If they haven’t formally figured that out before this, they are now, fueled by the energy in this room. By the eyes, the hunger closing in around them. 

If they’d been dirty dancing on the floor, they’re fucking _filthy_ after that. If Link could coil his limbs around Rhett and climb him he would, but instead he settles for hands in his hair, at his shoulders, down his back. Fingers dipping up under his shirt like he’d never seen him before, like this was the first time they’d met. Like he was trying to get the message across that he wanted Rhett inside him without using words. 

No matter what he does, Link’s hands find their way back to Rhett’s body. Even when he turns, when he’s decided what he needs is friction, the pantomime of being fucked on the dance floor, one hand finds its way back to Rhett’s hip, catching in the pocket of his jeans and giving a tug that says closer, _more_. Together they move like they’re connected already, like every bump and grind can be felt between them, electric. And it can be, almost. Each nudge drives the plug home but it’s not Rhett, not thick or long enough and so it’s a point of disconnect, too, a tease. 

Rhett needs more than what they can have out here on the dance floor, but he also doesn’t want this to end. He likes showing Link off, likes people wanting what he has. But there’s no fighting it when Link turns, looks back at him over his shoulder with the same look he’s had in the past when they’re fucking like this, when Link’s bent over something and about to open his mouth and ask for it harder. 

Link turns again and comes in close, a hand cradling Rhett’s neck, thumb rubbing through his beard as he leans up to talk loud in his ear, to be heard, “Take me to the nearest semi-private space and get inside me already.”

Rhett doesn’t need to be told twice. He takes Link by the hand and leads him off the dancefloor to where the bathrooms are. There’s two, and judging by the line twenty deep, they’re single stalls. Maybe there are more bathrooms in some other corner of the club but if there are, he doesn’t know where they are. 

What he does know is that waiting through the line isn’t happening. He’d been waffling on it, feeling guilty about what he already knew he was going to do, but when he felt Link slide his hand into the ass pocket of his jeans and _squeeze_ the guilt disappeared in that instant. A glance back at Link showed him just exactly how far gone he was. It wasn’t a secret that when Link was horny it was all he could think about, but he doesn’t think he’d ever seen him quite this worked up before. 

One of the bathroom doors starts to open and the man next in line is distracted, looking at his phone and Rhett sees his chance and takes it. Pulling Link’s hand out of the pocket of his jeans, he drags him by the wrist into the now-vacant restroom, completely bypassing the entire line and ignoring their noisy complaints as he pulls Link inside, slams the door shut and locks it. 

He doesn’t care that people are instantly knocking on the door. All he cares about is that he’s got Link off the dancefloor, all to himself. 

Link’s hands are already on him, trying to fish their way inside his clothes. He’s dragging him by the hem of his shirt backwards towards the nearest wall and Rhett follows easy because it’s where he wants to go, trying to follow Link’s full lips with his, not hunched quite so much as he might usually need to with the help of those heels. When Link’s back finally collides up against the wall, Rhett catches him in a kiss, this one less public than the last but no less thrilling. He’d almost forgotten the game, _almost_, but Link’s long fingers dipping into the waist of his skinny jeans remind him they’re strangers. 

They’ve never done this before. 

They’re a little buzzed and a lot horny and trying to make the most of tonight. In real life, Rhett is dimly aware that their time is limited, if the banging and shouting beyond the door are any indicator. He’s dumb or cocky or horny enough that he doesn’t think there’s an actual hard time limit, just a nagging urgency to get on with it. 

“Turn around,” Rhett all but growls as he pulls from Link’s mouth with a wet sound and he helps him out, turns him, hands on waist and hips until Link’s facing the wall. That’s when they realize it’s a mirror — the full length and width of the wall — and they’re face to face with themselves. 

Rhett’s there to witness the exact second Link’s eyes focus on his reflection enough to catch on, for it to click that they’re going to fuck and watch it happen. 

“Oh _fuck_.” Link’s forehead thuds lightly against the mirror and he shifts, hands flat against the cool glass as he arches his back, sticks out his ass and sways it back and forth invitingly. Slowly, he’s turning his head just slightly this way and that, like he’s taking a minute, like he needs to shut out some of the overstimulation. Rhett knows him enough to react, one big hand smoothing down his back, the delicate chain dragging beneath the palm of his hand, the gesture automatic and meant to soothe. 

“Fuck me,” Link’s voice is soft, whinier than usual. Needier. Everything’s happening fast, the span of seconds, just a beat or two of a breather and he’s back and demanding. “C’mon, daddy…”

And Rhett’s not wasting time in taking what he wants. In finally peeling down Link’s skin tight leggings to reveal the round swell his ass, the fact that he’d gone commando, and the flared base of the glittery blue buttplug nestled between his cheeks. He hums his satisfaction at finally seeing it, knowing which one it is he’d worn, but remembers that the game is that everything about this is new. 

In the mirror Rhett catches sight of Link’s cock springing free as the leggings bunch down around his thighs, hard and heavy, the wet, drooling head bumping against the glass. He spreads Link’s cheeks apart gently with one hand, just eases one away to get a better look. Fingertips can’t help but rush in to touch, to nudge as he asks “...Did you let those other men touch your ass like this?”

He knows they hadn’t touched him _like this_, but he also knows that even a casual grope would have erased any questions about what he had going on under his leggings. Knows that anyone would have been able to nudge or bump it just as he had.

“Yeah… they couldn’t keep their hands off…” 

Is Link trying to make him jealous? Because it’s working. Imagining all those men finding this secret and teasing him, toying with him. Fucking him without fucking him. Rhett knows it’s the game and he knows that at the end of the day, he’s the one who gets to take Link home, but it doesn’t totally quell his jealousy. 

“Kinda slutty, going out to a nightclub all ready to go.”

He catches the base between finger and thumb and rocks it slow and controlled, in and out, real shallow. Link seems like he’d had a response ready to go till that moment, till Rhett was fucking him with the plug, but now it looks like he’s short circuiting. Link gives up trying to answer and just nods, spreads his legs as wide as he can with his leggings bunched down around his thighs, the sound of those heels on the tile floor echoing in Rhett’s ears with his heavy heartbeat. 

Rhett gets close enough to talk right against the back of Link’s neck, right in his ear, and he’s gently tugging the plug as he does so, giving it a slow, practiced little wiggle as he eases it out of Link’s ass just a little bit at a time. 

“How ‘bout’cha say it?” Rhett coos the words into Link’s ear, feels the shiver it chases down his spine. 

Link’s voice comes like from far away, tries with a garbled noise like _what?_

“Say you’re a slut.”

“I’m a slut,” Link moans the words, face coming away from the mirror as the plug slowly pulls free from his body. Rhett can feel him almost chasing it, like he’s trying to keep the widest part from slipping free. So he obliges, fucks it back into him and proves his point when Link moans again _loud_. 

“And?”

The expression on Link’s face in the mirror is incredulous, glazed over with need. He doesn’t have an answer for that, can’t form words. 

So Rhett prompts again. 

“You’re a slut, and?”

It seems like Link’s recovered some ability to speak, because in a split second of Rhett not moving the plug in him that he perceived to be too long for his satisfaction he, he reaches back and cups Rhett through his jeans and gives a squeeze. Rhett’s groaning, holding eye contact with him in the mirror.

“And I picked you cause your dick felt bigger than the rest of ‘em, but if you don’t hurry up and get it in me I’m gonna go find someone who will.”

Link knows how to inflate his ego and push his buttons, and he does both at the same time, so quickly and expertly it damn near makes his head spin. Rhett has this flash image of Link finding someone else and finding some dark corner and bending over to take what he could get. 

This time when he starts easing the plug out he’s not stopping till it’s free of his body. 

“You trying to get me riled?”

“Is it working?”

The plug is almost free, Rhett’s big fingers hooked around the base and tugging. 

“Open the fucking door, this is your last warning!”

Had there been a first warning? The two of them were so wrapped up in each other they didn’t know, Rhett doesn’t remember anything other than the dull backdrop of banging blending in with the low roar and heavy bass of the music. Still, he doesn’t think they’re serious. Or at the very least, doesn’t think they can do anything but shout idle, angry threats. 

If he’s honest with himself, knowing there’s someone just outside has him more aroused, makes him want to fuck Link so much harder, wants to ensure they’re appallingly loud. 

One hand is easing open the zip of his fly as the plug finally, _finally_ pops free and Link’s groan at the loss of the plug inside him comes on the heels of the door bouncing on its hinges. 

They weren’t bluffing. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for liking, commenting and subscribing. ;)
> 
> Chapter 2 coming in 2020.


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